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Lunch
Warm golden beet with wilted kale salad with walnuts, homemade bread, tuna salad, asparagus soup, homemade sauerkraut. My hands smelling deliciously like the onions I cut. Think I will start wearing my long grey hair tied up Embrace the crone Shorts, sandals, Tai Chi on the beach Sunny and hot for May in the Kootenays I am back to where I started 40 years ago Community – one I am not a part of, yet Lunch carrot ginger soup, quiche, homemade rye bread with butter and thinly sliced white cheese, salad from the garden Young woman sitting in the dirt in the garden on a hill, meditating Another young woman vacuuming dejectedly 59th lojong slogan – ‘don’t expect applause’ Feeding the soul sometimes means other kinds of starvation Numbers – it has taken me seven days One sprained ankle and two sets of lost keys to finally slow down to Kootenay Time. The 25th lojong slogan – ‘don’t talk about injured limbs’ A desperate, frantic dream where I had done something wrong The rest of the dream about escaping – running, hiding; more running, hiding Finally, just before I am about to assume a new identity, I am caught My pursuer looks at me and decides to let me go. Acceptance – ultimate acceptance. Lunch Lettuce that I picked from the garden this morning, chile soup, corn bread. Dream – the iPhone version of enlightenment - Touch gently and all will be revealed Watch a storm blow in. Satsang last night – my favourite Swami (though I shouldn’t have favourites) Lunch on my own Toast and peanut butter, sliced strawberries, a glass of almond milk Searching for The way I feel in someone’s arms Finding it in everyone I speak to.
My mother is a stack of suspense and thriller novels, secretive and intriguing,
Thoughtful and creative, a living encyclopedia of words that make up an infinite list of definitions. An abstract writer, driven into the past, powered by pure unwavering determination. My Father, the average Chinese dad in Ohio, bad tempered and literally the definition of one who opposes women’s rights, not even a drop of literature in his daily life, engulfed by angry bosses and waves of stress, he slouches, a grumpy badger crawling back to his burrow, hibernating all year, ignoring the warning signs of coming out. My friend Jessa, brave, determined and modest, Carries an air of indignant disbelief and sarcasm with her. Her cheeks are slightly puffed by a small amount of baby fat, it’s almost doubtless that her favorite animal is a panda. Munching on bamboo all year, gathering supplies to build herself a fort. Sarah, another friend of mine, tall and delicate, her long cascade of deep brown hair swung over her shoulders, a cat, it’s fur long and sleek, light footed and gentle, striking after only a twitch of the ear, clever and grounded, always knowing, wise in her own way, just like her mother. Aiwen, sometimes known by others as Winnie, is the tallest of all, a great bear looming over everyone, with a surprisingly soft and funny personality layered underneath. An amazing chicken whisperer, she owns eight who bow down low to her, crowing her their queen. I am none of these things. I am wild, free, and bound by wisdom. I am a wood elf, roaming the woods with my bow and arrow hunting for rabbits and deer through the tangle of branches, hopping, sliding, skidding on smooth pebbles on the banks of a peaceful stream. One day I hope the world remains in peace as long as it can, for danger has begun to stir in the dark more fervently.
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SUBMIT YOUR POEMSThe Alexandra Writers Centre is full of so many wonderful writers from all backgrounds. We are pleased to be able to showcase some of the fabulous poets during poetry month and beyond. Keep sending us your poetry and we will publish on a rolling basis. We look forward to showcasing your work. ArchivesCategories |